


blue

by gearyoak



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Stargazing, low quality fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:20:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearyoak/pseuds/gearyoak
Summary: It’s not warm, but it’s comfortable enough to get over it. Steve doesn’t even smoke anymore, but he still follows Billy out the sliding glass doors and endures the incoming winter. A lot of the time, they hardly talk out here. They listen to the wind chill, Steve listens to Billy’s exhales. Picks at the loose thread of the sweater he’s wearing underneath his coat. Watches cigarette smoke curl in front of them.And Billy looks up.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	blue

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this because of that one post about billy's actor saying billy would be a sap and enjoy stargazing with his s/o. i wish i had a link bcuz there was some rlly good stuff that went along with it but i haven't seen it in a long time. 
> 
> anyway yeah :^)

It’s getting colder outside. The grass in Steve’s backyard starts the day out covered in frost, crunches and turns brown. His father had long since sent someone to come and drain the pool; Steve could’ve made the case of keeping it heated throughout the winter in order to keep it running. He hadn’t. He finds he likes it a little better empty. 

It’s a good place to hang out now that the quarry is half iced over. Winds that used to travel up from the water were blocked out now by the walls of the pool. The cold concrete had been an issue at first, but it was nothing raiding his mother’s linen closets couldn’t fix. It seems like a while ago, now, piling bedsheets and comforters and quilts into Billy’s arms as he kept scoffing and shaking his head, muttering shit like, _I’ve never actually seen anyone who actually had a closet just for blankets._

So now, when Billy’s craving a smoke or if the walls seem to be too close and they’re itching for air, they climb down into the hollow pool and into their makeshift nest. They sit side by side, his mother’s gaudy, trillion-and-one thread count comforter over their laps, sheets folded underneath them as a soft cushion. A quilt that Steve’s seen in pictures taken before he was even born draped over their shoulders. 

It’s not warm, but it’s comfortable enough to get over it. Steve doesn’t even smoke anymore, but he still follows Billy out the sliding glass doors and endures the incoming winter. A lot of the time, they hardly talk out here. They listen to the wind chill, Steve listens to Billy’s exhales. Picks at the loose thread of the sweater he’s wearing underneath his coat. Watches cigarette smoke curl in front of them. 

And Billy looks up. 

Every so often, when Steve notices he’s doing it, he’ll look up with him. Try and find where Billy’s eyes were landing. All those times he never was able to; Billy would realize what Steve was doing, drop his chin back down to stare at him curiously. Steve used to return the look but he saw the furrow in between Billy’s brow and the pinch of his lips around his cig and knew better than to ask. 

But they’ve been doing this for a long enough time. Trading warmth. Touches and soft words. They weren’t what they were when Billy’d first moved into town, but they weren’t friends, either.

Well. Maybe they were, but that was really only saying half of it. 

So Steve caught Billy staring up again by looking from the corner of his eye. He glanced up quickly, saw no planes in the night sky, no birds. Looked back down before Billy noticed and would stop. 

Got daring - let his head droop until it rested on Billy’s shoulder. Waited until his cig was nearly burnt to the filter when he asked, “What, they don’t have stars back where your from?”

They’re close enough that Steve can feel the way Billy stiffens for just a second. Feels the brush of his hair against his temple when Billy turns to look down at him. Then, after Steve refuses to meet his challenge, he grunts and reaches out to his left to crush the cherry of his cigarette against the tile on the wall. Flicks it toward the drain near the middle and says, “Not really.” 

And honestly, Steve had meant to be sarcastic, because Billy had been looking up at the sky and what the fuck else is supposed to be up there, if not the goddamn stars? Like, he doesn’t know much, but he knows California is a hot and dry place. It isn’t known for its monsoons and general overcast. 

So he doesn’t bitch about the collection of butts accumulating in his pool, just says, “Wait, huh?” 

Billy jostles him with a shrug but Steve notices that he doesn’t look back up. “Ever heard of light pollution, brainiac?” At Steve’s continued silence, he scoffs and shakes his head. As he reaches into the front pocket of the red flannel he’s layered underneath his jacket for the pack of cigarettes, he adds on, “We lived in the city and everything was too bright. So.” 

Steve lifts his head. Stares hard at Billy’s profile and only gets even more confused when he finds that the other is serious. “You’ve _never_ seen the stars before?” He guesses if he thought about it, it might not have been so weird. It never snowed in Cali, and _that_ seems so strange to him, being an Indiana-grown boy. 

But then Billy’s huffing out a laugh, nudging his elbow into Steve’s as if he wants him to move. But Steve doesn’t go anywhere and Billy doesn’t try again. “No, I’ve seen the fuckin’ stars before, just,” he shrugs once more, sucks in a deep drag, eyes flickering back up to the sky but not staying. “Y’know, never this many.” 

Steve hums, considering this and looking up for himself. It doesn’t seem so noteworthy; it’s the same sky he’s been looking up at since he was a kid. He thinks that, sure, there are a lot of stars up there. It’s more blue than black with them all hung in it, lighting it up. It just isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before.

He looks back to Billy to express this, gets his mouth open but stops, because he catches Billy turning away, tilting his head up. Away from Steve, as if he’d been watching. Taking him in like the night sky. Steve smiles, scooches closer and the blankets bunch up underneath them. 

“Didn’t know you gave a shit about stuff like that, blue,” he admits, getting a hand underneath the comforter and on Billy’s thigh. 

Billy shrugs and leans into the touch. “I don’t, really. S’just weird to see.” 

He lays his head back down and doesn’t mention how Billy’s been watching the sky since they’ve started hanging out. The weirdness should have worn off by now. Billy’s odd about stuff like this, though. He says shit a lot - not a chatterbox like Steve is, but he’s got a need for everyone’s attention. Rarely, though, will he actually give something away. Most of the time, whatever Steve learns about him, it was from actively searching. Getting lucky and catching it. 

So Billy likes looking at the stars. 

Steve couldn’t give less of a shit about them, but he could about Billy, so.

“You know any constellations?”

Billy pretends like this question confuses him. “Nah. You?” 

“I know,” he trails off to crane his neck, scans above them, then points and finally finishes with, “The Big Dipper.” 

Billy tilts his head until it gently bumps against Steve’s like he’s trying to align their vision, following where he’s pointing. “S’that the big one or the little one?” 

And that makes Steve pause, because he didn’t even know there was two different ones. But. now that he thinks about, calling it the _Big_ Dipper is a clear implication that there might be a _Little_ Dipper out there somewhere. He draws out an, “Uh,” and hopes that Billy doesn’t realize he doesn’t have an answer.

Billy _doesn’t_ realize it, because he’s saying, “I think it depends on what star you’re looking at or some shit. I don’t know.” 

“You _just_ said you didn’t know anything about constellations,” Steve accuses, and that makes Billy huff out a laugh.

“Everyone knows the fuckin’ Big Dipper, Steve.” 

“Not us,” he counters. “We apparently don’t know shit.”

Quiet rolls over them, as does another gust of chilled wind. Billy stiffens to avoid shivering but otherwise acts like he doesn’t feel it. Steve shoves his cold nose into the crook of the blond’s neck 

Billy takes one final drag of his smoke before snuffing it out, too, flicking the butt to join the rest. “Wanna go back in?” 

Steve shakes his head a little, but he’s sure the other can feel it. Still, he says, “Nah. We can stay out here if you wanna.”

A second goes by where Billy remains very still, as if he’s going to turn down Steve’s offer. But finally, eventually, he takes it. Relaxes back into the blankets, pulls his arm out from between them so he can get it around Steve’s shoulders and pulls him closer. He drags the comforter up higher over their fronts and settles back in, sighing. Resigns himself to remembering to bring something hot to drink next time they come out here for a smoke. He’ll just stick it out, for now. 

Hide his face from the cold so Billy’ll keep looking up.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry u got to the end, that's on me


End file.
